


American Beauty/American Psycho

by hieronymusbosch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Disjointed, F/M, Non-Chronological, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hieronymusbosch/pseuds/hieronymusbosch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of disjointed (read: non-chronological) prompt fics in a modern, mostly college, au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "we met on an airplane and i'm afraid of heights"

**Author's Note:**

> i am shipping trash  
> i am also a trash uni student
> 
> this was inevitable

The little red logo that told passengers to fasten their seatbelts blinked off, and Bellamy sighed at the cramped leg space he’d have to endure for the long flight. He unfastened his seatbelt and shifted in his seat, finding that he could extend his legs a bit if he faced left and poked his feet out onto the aisle. He made a mental note not to fly Cebu Pacific next time.

To his right, Octavia was nothing short of bouncing in her seat, all smiles and giddy about riding a plane for the first time. He shot her a fond smile, wishing she’d calm down soon. It was a thirteen-or-so-hour flight to Manila, and he frowned at the thought of his sister being so pumped up all throughout.

“Ooh, Bell! Can we ask for an extra packet of peanuts?” she gripped his arm, showing him the empty packet in her other hand.

“If you don't take it down about seven notches, O, I will not hesitate to knock you out,” he shook his head no and gently elbowed her.

Octavia gave him a practiced eye-roll and instead leaned over and flattened her nose against the window, surprising the blonde sitting beside her. Bellamy sighed and grabbed Octavia’s shoulder, pulling her back into her seat.

“Sorry,” Octavia laughed, tucking her hair behind her ears. She smiled apologetically at the young woman in the window seat. “It’s my first time and the view’s so breathtaking! I hope I can get a window seat when we fly back.”

“Actually—” the blonde cleared her throat, glancing back at the window with a grimace. “You wanna switch? I’m kind of, you know...”

Bellamy raised a brow. Octavia turned to him and they shared their amusement at the irony of the situation.

“Well, I think it’s kinda scary, too. I’d be alright with switching, if you want!” Octavia turned back to smile at her brilliantly. His sister’s always managed to put people at ease, despite being the whirlwind that she was.

“Please,” she squeaked out quietly as a look of relief took over her face. “Thank you…”

“Octavia,” O grinned. “And this is my big brother Bellamy.”

They shook hands and Octavia's seatmate introduced herself as Clarke. He leaned over and gripped her hand as well, quickly offering a “Nice to meet you.”

“I could take the aisle seat if you guys wanna sit together,” she caught his eye with a grateful look as she and Octavia unfastened their seatbelts. Bellamy thought about Helen of Troy and briefly wondered if the Laconian queen was as fair-haired as Clarke was.

“Nah, I kinda need all the leg space I can get,” he quirked a half-smile, wiggling his feet in his boots. He looked over at Octavia to see if she was okay with that, but she had raised her structured eyebrows, a mischievous glint in her eye. He wanted to narrow his eyes at her. Instead, he got up and stepped onto the aisle, allowing them to maneuver themselves into their new seating arrangement.

When Bellamy slid back into his seat, Octavia had once again pressed her face up against the window. Clarke, on the other hand, had fastened her seatbelt and drawn it tight, worrying her lower lip. Bellamy reached over to pluck a barf bag from the pocket in front of her seat, wordlessly offering it to her.

“Thanks, but, I’d rather not—“ Clarke looked at the object in his hand in embarrassment. “I mean, I don't want to—"

“It’s fine, not everyone is as fearless as O is,” he nodded to Octavia, who still hadn't moved an inch.

“She is, isn't she?” they shared a smile at the sight of Octavia’s braids swishing about as she looked through the window in wonder.

“We can always ask for more of these, anyway,” he waved the barf bag.

“I know that. I _have_ flown in a plane before, you know,” she sighed exasperatedly, brushing off imaginary dirt off her lap.

He raised his eyebrows at her revelation. She shrugged, and Bellamy withdrew his arm, giving her a sheepish look.

“But just because I’ve done it before doesn't mean I’m automatically not afraid of heights anymore,” she huffed, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “Wish it worked that way, though.”

“Just take it,” he wrinkled his brow, growing impatient. “It’s a thirteen-hour flight and I’d rather not smell vomit for half of it.”

She opened her mouth to object again, but thought better of it and nodded. She quickly accepted the bag, grumbling out a “Thanks—not that I'm gonna need it.”

“Sure,” Bellamy scoffed at the sight of her hand, which was nervously clutching the barf bag. “Whatever you the hell you want.”


	2. "i got thrown into the pool at a frat party and my phone was in my pocket. can i use yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> includes characters smoking, because what's a college au without smoking?

"Oh my _God_ ," Clarke grumbled to herself. Everything was happening at once—the disorienting lights, the continuous noise, the nauseating cup of trash juice thrust into her hand the moment she stepped through the door—it was sensory overload at its finest. "I told you. I'm sure! I'm a thousand percent sure this isn't my scene. Can we go?"

"Hah!" Raven cackled over whatever song was thrumming in their ribcages at the moment. "That's what everyone says before they get to their fifth drink! And you can't be a thousand percent sure, Clarke, that's just wrong."

Clarke's roommate took her hand and led her through the throng of college students currently celebrating the start of the second semester. They weaved through people in various degrees of intoxication before locating a glass sliding door and stepping out of the house and into the pool area. They settled by the drinks table, grateful that the noise was at least at a more tolerable level there.

"D'you mind if I—?" Raven asked as she produced a half-pack of cigarettes from her purse and waved it around. "I'm gasping and I need to finish this thing before I leave."

Clarke shrugged and took her drink in her hand. She had seen her father smoke the same brand of menthols before, whenever her mother had a particularly long shift at the hospital. Raven sighed out her first puff of smoke, thoughtfully eyeing the three sticks she had left in her pack. She turned to Clarke, who was looking on edge, eyes flitting about the whole scene.

"So this is fun!" Raven nudged her and grabbed her cup from Clarke's hand, swiftly finishing half of it in one gulp. She grimaced. "Amazing. The ratio of trash to juice will never be less than five to one." Raven brought the cigarette to her lips.

"You think?" Clarke raised a brow as she took another drag. Raven looked pointedly at the near-full cup in her hand and she sighed, bracing herself. Clarke took a long sip, swallowing quickly and biting back the urge to regurgitate it. She coughed once and glared at her roommate, who was nearing the end of her drink. "How many different liquors did they mix in this thing?"

"I swear it tastes better the more you drink. Well—it's more curvilinear, really, but by the time it starts sloping downwards, you won't care, anyway," Raven winked and downed the rest of hers, chucking the empty cup at a nearby trash bin and puffing out another breath of smoke.  She nodded at Clarke, who begrudgingly finished her drink.

"So, are you on the prowl for a conquest tonight?" Raven began excitedly, keeping her dying cigarette between her fingers and grabbing two new cups from the table. She handed one to Clarke. "You know I'm a great wingwoman. Ninety-six percent success rate. Well—a hundred, if not for those two times with Wick."

Clarke laughed, shaking her head. She surveyed the scene before her. Too many people were crowding the drinks table to their left. A few groups of friends were littered in the grass are around the pool, no doubt engaging in one illegal activity or the other. A handful of unnervingly attractive seniors were in the hot tub, lounging lazily in glamorous swimwear.

"No one is passably cute," she scrunched up her nose in distaste as she gulped down half of her new drink.

"That's the spirit!" Raven snickered, killing her cigarette and flicking it to the ground. She hastily downed her drink and grabbed another. "Do try to keep up, Clarke."

Clarke finished her second cup with a barely-repressed scowl and accepted a replacement from Raven, who had lit up again.

A surprisingly loud "Alright!" caused both girls to look to the sliding doors, which had been opened. Music poured out to the area as three frat boys emerged in a flurry of movement, carrying a struggling freshman, no doubt. Clarke rolled her eyes at the mindless initiation rite—she'd fallen victim to it when she was in her first year, too. Raven, she'd found out, had been smart enough to say no when asked if it was her first frat party.

"She's kinda hot," Raven mused, gesturing to the commotion, cup in hand. She nudged Clarke with her elbow. Other students were crowding around them now, chanting some unintelligible chant.

"I can't see," Clarke squinted as they inched closer to the pool.  "Maybe later."

"Sure," Raven laughed, taking a long drag. "It's a good thing she isn't wearing white. Remember what happened to you last year?"

"I'd rather not," Clarke ducked her head in embarrassment, her nape warming. Flashbacks of being thoroughly soaked as she emerged from the pool, white sweater clinging to her skin, reminded Clarke of why she disliked frat parties. She shook her head and finished her drink. "Ever."

"Look," Raven hushed her, pursing her lips in the direction of the pool.

A shriek erupted, then a loud splash, then numerous whoops and shouts from the crowd, Raven included. Clarke rolled her eyes and downed her drink.

The crowd quickly dissipated as the girl resurfaced. She pushed her hair out of her face, looking around wildly for the frat boys who'd thrown her in. Instead, her brown eyes met with blue. Recognition flickered on her features before she frowned, hurriedly getting out of the pool and making a beeline for Clarke.

"Oh, shit," Clarke muttered, realizing who she was. "It's Octavia."

Raven looked to her in surprise, half curious and half impressed.

"Need a drink, freshman?" someone called out to her as she walked, much to the others' amusement. He soon found out it was a mistake to do so, as Octavia turned her head and nothing short of hissed at him venomously.

"Clarke!" she called as she neared them, legs shaking and a trail of damp grass behind her. "Hey! Fucking hell."

"O, I'm so sorry," she frowned, leaning into the younger girl's embrace.  "I didn't even know you went to these. I could've told you about the initiation thing!"

"Tough luck," she grumbled, taking a cup from the drinks table and emptying it in one go. She swallowed with a wince and threw the cup in the bin. "Disgusting—I love it."

"You can take my jacket if you want," Raven offered, shaking her head at the sight of Octavia shivering. "I'm Raven, Clarke's roommate."

"Thanks," she nodded and gratefully accepted the letterman jacket Raven handed her. "I'm Octavia."

Raven finished her cigarette and disposed of it on the grass as Octavia turned to Clarke.

"Uh, Clarke? Can I borrow your phone?" she began. "My phone was in my pocket, and well—I really wanna get out of here."

Clarke nodded and fished her phone out of her jeans, handing it to her. With trembling hands, she dialed and put the phone to her ear.

"Hey, it's me," she rushed into the receiver as Clarke and Raven watched. "I _know_ —look, I really couldn't care less about research for your midterm paper—" Octavia groaned in frustration. "It's the start of the semester, you butt, I don't think even your prof cares about your midterm paper yet. What a nerd."

Raven stifled a laugh and Clarke smiled fondly at Octavia, who was rolling her eyes and pretending to vomit. Raven grabbed a cup and passed it to Clarke, who scowled at her, but took it anyway.

"Some stupid frat boys threw me in the pool, okay?" she sighed. "Just come get me, pl—no—really? Yes! Yay! You're the best!"

Octavia returned Clarke's phone with a contented smirk, grabbing a drink for herself.

"Thanks, guys," she said after taking a swig. "I thought I was screwed back there."

 "No problem," they responded at the same time. "You should come with us next time," Raven continued, at which point Clarke shook her head at O. "We can help you steer clear of other frat party horrors."

"Sorry, but I'll pass. I'm still in high school, actually." Octavia confessed. "I just wanted to see what a frat party was like."

"How are you finding it?" Clarke prodded.

"It's great! I can't wait to throw people in next time!" At this, all three shared a laugh. 

"Hey, would you mind waiting with me out front for my ride?" Octavia asked, not quite meeting their eyes.

Raven led the way through the crowded house and back out the front door, chatting animatedly with Octavia and waving to a few friends. Bellamy was already there by the time they stepped onto the sidewalk, lit by the street lamps, annoyed scowl set in place.

"Bell!" Octavia rushed forward, locking him in an embrace. " _Thankyouthankyouthankyou_!"

"You're not even supposed to be here, O. You owe me one," he frowned at the state his sister was in. When Octavia nodded, he looked behind her to regard Clarke and Raven. "Hey, Window Seat, long time no see." he smirked.

"Barf Bag," Clarke raised a brow. "Didn't think you'd know where parties were at."

"Hey, I know how to let loose once in a while," he spoke with a defensive tinge in his drawl. "Just not tonight."

Raven winked before put a cigarette between her lips. "How's that midterm paper going?" she snickered through her teeth, lighting up.

"Interrupted," he mock-glared at Octavia, who shrugged with a smile and reached up to ruffle his hair.

"This is Raven," Octavia explained as Bellamy raised his brows. "Raven, this is my brother Bellamy."

"Hey. You think I can get one of those?" Bellamy nodded at her smoke.

"Sorry, this is my last one," Raven exhaled, smirking. "Better luck next time."

Bellamy chuckled and shook his head, curls falling into his eyes. "I guess so. C'mon, O."

"I'll return your jacket soon, Raven!" Octavia called out as she and her brother turned to leave. "Thanks again!"


	3. “i’m the wedding planner and you’re part of the entourage" + ???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may have twisted the prompt a bit, oops  
> i know i said college au, but i really wanted to write this, so tough luck
> 
> there's a bonus prompt that will be revealed at the end
> 
> also, it will become 100% apparent that i am nathan miller trash

"Thanks for coming along today, Clarke," Lincoln smiled knowingly. "I bet Octavia didn't stop badgering you until you agreed."

"You would win that bet," she chuckled, shaking her head. She and Lincoln crossed the street hurriedly, heading uptown. "It's my job to oversee everything though, so don't feel too bad."

"I don't get the fuss about not seeing me in my suit, anyway," Lincoln continued. "It's just a suit. Maybe I should wear it to lunch after."

"Yeah, well Octavia wants it to be _fair_ ," Clarke air quoted, coming to a stop at the tailor's doorstep. "If you can't see her in her gown, then she can't see you in your suit."

"What a pain," he laughed in good nature. He put his hand on the door to push it open. "I can't believe I have to wait three more weeks until I'm married to her."

"Well, you know what they say," Clarke shrugged as they entered the tailor's. "Good things come to those who wait."

Inside the shop, the male half of the entourage was already in full attendance. Clarke counted Nyko, Dr. Kane, Bellamy, Miller, Quint, and—

"Where's Finn?" Lincoln asked, noticing an empty seat beside Kane.

"Hello, Clarke. You just missed him. He just went in to fit his suit," Kane explained, rising from his seat to shake Lincoln's hand. "Nice to see you, Lincoln."

"Thanks for coming today," he nodded.

They all exchanged hellos, and Lincoln took Finn's seat. He and Kane immediately started discussing the university's upcoming anniversary celebration. Clarke settled against the armrest, beside Miller, who had taken off his beanie and was trying to get his hair in control.

"Here, let me help," Clarke smiled, reaching over to try to get his hair into a manageable shape. "You know, Nate, since you started growing out your afro, I've launched a petition to get rid of that hat of yours."

"Shut up, Clarke, I love this beanie," he pouted, running his fingers through his curls. "Besides, the color looks good on me."

"Whatever you say," she laughed lightly. "I stand firm that you look better without it."

Hearing her giggle, Bellamy glanced over to them, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He watched Clarke frown at the mess that was Miller's hair. At Clarke's inquiry, Miller started talking animatedly about how his dad was doing now that he'd retired—apparently Sgt. Miller has started working at restoring his old convertible. Realizing he'd been staring for a while, Bellamy quickly averted his gaze to stare at the taupe curtains of the shop window.

Just then, Finn came out from the back of the shop. He was wearing a dark gray suit, an off-white shirt, and a dark purple tie. His eyes found Clarke, who quickly dropped her hands, but refused to meet his eyes.

"That looks great," Lincoln gave him the thumbs-up. Finn aimed a quick smile at him and returned his gesture before turning around and heading back to change. "Who's going next?"

"May I?" Kane raised his hand. "The academic convocation's just after lunch."

"Go ahead, Dr. Kane," Lincoln agreed. "I'm sorry to miss the convocation—"

"It's no big deal, Lincoln. It's for good reason—and it looks like I'm up!" he stood as Finn came back. They smiled as they passed each other.

"I'm good to go, right?" Finn asked.

"Yes," Clarke responded, looking at him for the first time, blue eyes devoid of any emotion. "If there are no problems with the fitting, you can come back and claim it next week."

Finn pressed his lips together, unsure of whether or not he should say something more.

"See you next week, Spacewalker," Bellamy said gruffly after a beat.

One by one, the men took their turns fitting their suits for the heavily anticipated wedding. They all chatted amicably in the waiting area, and after Dr. Kane left, Lincoln started talking about their plans for the house. Bellamy kept insisting that they shouldn't convert one of the three bedrooms into a nursery just yet, telling Lincoln that he and Octavia should take time to enjoy the married life first. Quint agreed immediately, while Nyko told Lincoln that they could do what they wanted, as long as they were ready. Lincoln had laughed at this, mock-complaining about how eager O was to start a family, to Bellamy's discomfort. Miller laughed the loudest at the sour look on his face, with Clarke being a close second.

Quint and Nyko left together a little after half-past noon, but not before Clarke instructed the tailor to alter Nyko's pants, which were a bit too long. Miller came out with wide eyes and a supremely smug look on his face, looking like a cat that got the cream. He gripped the purple tie in his hands, collar popped and first button undone. Clarke had gotten off her seat at once, reaching out to take the tie from him. Miller looked on as she worked, finishing quickly with a satisfied half-smile. He thanked Clarke and confessed that that was the first suit he would own. Lincoln had cheered at that, and Miller thanked him as well, getting a bit emotional. When Clarke gave him the thumbs-up, he flashed everyone a giddy grin and disappeared to change.

It was five to one when Bellamy walked out of the dressing room, purple tie in hand.

"Oh my God, I refuse to believe you don't know how to tie a tie," Clarke eyed him from the couch, arms crossed. She could hear her stomach demanding lunch, and Lincoln shot her an apologetic look.

"I may have forgotten, okay?" he looked at the crystal chandelier above them. "I mean, it's not like I didn't try back there. It just got really tangled up, and I—well, I gave up." Bellamy regarded her. Clarke gnawed at her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes at him. She tilted her head to the side and heaved a sigh. Finally, she uncrossed her legs and stood, obliging him.

Clarke looked him in the eye as she reached up and popped his collar. She took the silk tie, looping it over and around his neck. Bellamy swallowed slowly after she shifted her gaze to the base of his neck, tying it quickly just like with Miller's. He watched her as she did so, transfixed and thinking to himself that she must be some modern-day Isis or something. All life and magic and wild as nature, and a goddess in her own right. 

She stepped away from him and he resisted following. Clarke admired her work and returned to her seat.

"Thanks, princess," he managed after a beat, finding that he could move again. "See? I clean up nice."

"I know that," she smiled sweetly, a challenge in her eyes. "I  _was_ at Jasper's wedding two weeks ago. You were the one who tied his tie, you know." _  
_

It was all he could do not to look down sheepishly as Clarke rolled her eyes at Lincoln, who was trying his best not to laugh _too_ loud. (He was a grown man, after all.) He was clutching his side with one hand and covering his mouth with the other, occasional odd noises and half-guffaws escaping. Seeing him fail at it launched Clarke into a fit of giggles. Bellamy focused on the way her eyelashes fluttered.

At that exact moment, the the glass shattered. He realized that he was completely and utterly done for.

He could have sworn he knew Osiris's pain as Set tore him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as u can see there was bonus "i pretended not to know how to tie a tie as an excuse to get closer to your face" hehehehe


	4. "i slept with someone who reminded me of you" + "getting caught sneaking away the morning after"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains characters smoking

Bellamy pried his eyes open, half-glaring at the window and half-squinting to shield his eyes from the brilliant sunlight. He swallowed and his dry throat closed up painfully, making him choke a little. Irritated, he wet his lips and decided to get the hell out of wherever he was.

He looked around and tried to get his bearings, and a dull soreness in his thighs completed part of the picture. Bellamy cursed under his breath as he looked beside him, seeing the sleeping figure of some arbitrary young blonde. Last night's conquest was facing away from him but matched his state of undress, white sheets pooled around her waist. As he gingerly rolled out of bed, it occurred to him that her hair glinted golden in the morning sun, just like—

 _Not that that's the justification for sleeping with her or anything,_  the thought turned bitter in his mind.  _Clarke's got nothing to do with this._

As he looked around for his clothes, he decided that he would lay off getting drunk for a while, save for happy occasions. To be fair, last night _was_ one, he remembered that at least. He and his friends had been out celebrating earning their master's degrees (as well as the fact that for once, they were all single at the same time), hopping from one bar to the next, getting progressively more and more intoxicated. He shook his head as he located his boxers, trying to will away the beginnings of a headache.

Bellamy saw his near-empty pack of cigarettes and lighter on the ground, beside her dress. He grabbed them and lit up, throwing her a wary glance when she sighed softly in her sleep. The cigarette helped delay his hangover, if only for a bit. Behind him, she shifted in the sheets.

He stole a peek out the window as he dragged his jeans up. To his surprise, he saw the familiar sight of the university's campus. Given the state his memory was in, he briefly marvelled at the fact that he didn't just pass out in a bar somewhere, and that he even managed to come up the stairs to some college girl's dorm room, which was on the third floor, he realized. He shook his head and started the hunt for the rest of his belongings.

He found his shoes by the bed and his socks a few feet away. His shirt was draped haphazardly over the headboard, right below a huge floor-to-ceiling wall decal of Van Gogh's  _Starry Night_. He hadn't seen that when he came in last night, but it was impressive. He paused to admire it. Bellamy faintly remembered having climbed up to the rooftop to drink and stargaze (and maybe kiss a little) before coming down when things got a bit too heated, but could recall little else. Her face was blurry in his mind's eye, but her blonde hair was not. Blonde like—

With that thought, a cloudy memory of him telling one of his classmates that she had Clarke's hair resurfaced, followed by a murky one of them asking him who Clarke was.

 _Okay,_ he admitted, to himself at least. _So m_ _aybe Clarke's got a little to do with this_.

He killed his cigarette and threw it out the window. Making sure that his wallet, keys, and phone were in his pocket, he walked around the bed to pick up his jacket, which was by the door. Bellamy turned to look at the mystery girl, and instantly, all air escaped his lungs. He whipped around rapidly—much too quickly, and his head started pounding at full force—and struggled to unlock the door, hands shaking and mind racing. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying to all the deities of all the pantheons that this was just some kind of twisted Surrealist Freudian unconscious dream crap that Octavia used to talk about.

" _Shit_ ," he spit out as he unlocked the door, pulling it open. His heart was threatening to leap out of his mouth and his sight was getting blurry. Panic grabbed at his gut and didn't let go, squeezing, twisting, wringing. Bellamy slammed the door shut and power-walked out of room 300 before Clarke could wake up.

 

* * *

 

Clarke's nose twitched at the stark smell of cigarette smoke, and she sighed contentedly. Opening her eyes, she decided against getting up, completely satisfied with just laying in bed for a bit, if it meant spending more time alone with Bellamy. High on the events of last night, she contemplated asking him for a smoke herself.

She turned to look at him, but quickly turned back. Bellamy was putting on his jeans, cigarette hanging from his lips. Confused, Clarke closed her eyes and struggled to collect herself.

She had looked at him like she hadn't been wanting it when he first grabbed her hand. The night before, on the rooftop, their feet dangled seven storeys above the campus grounds. They'd shared a bottle of God-knows-what, adding to the alcohol they had already consumed at the bar. After a while, Clarke had grown tired of looking at the campus and nudged Bellamy, telling him to look up at the stars.

And that's when he had taken her hand.

And later on, when he'd kissed her sloppily after she had named all the constellations they could see, she had acted like she hadn't wanted it either. It was true, partly, in that she didn't want it in that way. Not when they were drunk, and definitely not when he had just broken up with Echo a week ago. It had made her feel like a rebound. But Bellamy had taken her in his arms and made sure she knew she wasn't.

"I want this, Clarke," he'd drawled into her ear, softly, almost like a prayer. She had asked him if he really wanted her. "I need this."

Under the stars, he had looked at her like she was the sun and all he wanted was to worship her—and she believed him. She would believe anything he said. His piercing gaze had stirred something inside Clarke, and that was all she'd needed in her drunken haze to stop acting like she didn't want it, too.

But it wasn't last night anymore, and she could hear Bellamy collecting his things. Clarke struggled to stay quiet despite the urge to cry, or bang her head against a brick wall. She promptly decided to just swallow her pride and pretend to be asleep, if that would make things easier for him.

Because maybe she  _was_ just a stupid rebound.

When Bellamy started struggling to open her door, Clarke finally opened her eyes to see his body outlined in panic and distress. She couldn't help the bitter tears that rolled down to soak her pillow. He slammed the door behind him, and Clarke closed her eyes again. She wished she weren't so stupid as to have fallen for his silver tongue and constant bravado, but she had last night. She hated herself a bit more for it, because maybe all Bellamy ever needed last night was to forget, but all Clarke ever wanted was for him to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it actually went in another direction that what i had previously envisioned, but it's hella alright for me


	5. "okay i get that there are no seats left in this cafe but like i am trying to read here no you cannot have this chair my feet are using it thank you very much please get out of my face now”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm giving bellamy glasses because we all know he's a total nerd
> 
> also the prompt says "have this chair" but i took it as "have this seat"

Someone cleared their throat forcefully, making Clarke look up from her book. Bellamy towered over her and the cozy nook she'd established for herself in the busy cafe. She was occupying a corner table for two, notes strewn across the tabletop and coffee mug long empty.

"Hey," he flashed her a quick half-smile. Bellamy placed a hand on the back of the empty chair. "This seat taken?"

"Sorry, yeah," Clarke shrugged, wiggling her feet.

"C'mon, Clarke," he drawled. "There are no seats and I need somewhere to work."

Clarke glanced at the clock; it read five to eleven. It had been nine-thirthy in the evening when Clarke left her room to set up camp there, deciding to study for her art history final in the 24-hour cafe on campus.

"So work in your apartment," she pointed out like it was the most obvious thing. "You have a quiet place all to yourself. Why are you here?"

"Because," he huffed, setting his bag on top of her notes, earning a glare from Clarke. "I can't work in total silence. I need background noise."

"Then turn on the television or something," she shrugged, grabbing her highlighter from under his bag and marking a passage from her book.

"Too noisy," he shot back as she returned the highlighter.

"You know you can control the volume on that thing, right?" Clarke raised her eyebrows. "Please go away. I need to finish this book. And review my notes. And make note cards."

"Look—are you waiting for anyone?" he shifted on his feet when she shook her head no. "Then I don't see why I can't sit here."

"I'm already comfortable, and I don't want to take my feet down," Clarke pouted like a five-year-old begging to go to the zoo. "Just go to the other cafe if you want _background noise_."

"The other cafe's outside campus!" he rushed out in an irritated whisper. "Just let me sit here."

"I don't have any space for your stuff," she gestured to the messy table.

"Move your notes," he insisted. When she didn't respond, Bellamy shrugged and started grabbing her papers, piling them up beside his bag.

"Bellamy!" she stopped him. "I need to master the comprehensive history of Western art in like eight hours," she frowned at her notes. "And I'm only at Byzantine Art."

"I won't bother you, I promise," he pushed his glasses up, frustrated. This was only the third time Clarke had seen him in glasses. "You won't even know I'm here."

"But my feet!" she wiggled her toes. "Where will they go?"

"They can go on the floor, where they're supposed to be," he rolled his eyes, glancing at his watch. "I just really need to finish these last two papers."

"Like I said," she huffed. "Do it at home. I don't want to move. Go away."

"Jesus, Clarke, I'm just as desperate as you are to get this hell week over with," he grumbled as he eyed her empty mug. "Look, I can go and buy you another coffee."

Clarke looked him over: messy hair, thick glasses, wrinkly flannel shirt, even wrinklier jeans, and old trainers. She sighed; it was hell week alright. Seeing her notes already piled high, effectively clearing up the other half of the table, she shot him a practiced puppy dog look.

"You can put your feet on my lap if you want," he muttered, barely above his breath.

Clarke caught it, though, and she broke into a grin that engulfed her whole face.

"No shoes!" he amended quickly, sinking into the chair once she cleared it.

"About that coffee..." she started, and he stood again.

"Yeah, I know your order. Large hazelnut latte with two extra shots, right?" he winked when she nodded. "On it."

"Thank you!" she sang out, voice ringing.

"What a fucking princess," he muttered as he turned to start for the queue, throwing her a half-hearted glare.

"Got that right," she smirked, going back to her book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just an fyi to get an idea of the sequence of events: this is the first time he calls her a princess and also the moment when the nickname is born
> 
> bellamy knows how clarke likes her coffee ha ha ha ha


	6. "i MIGHT be pregnant and you're the first person i tell but it's only by accident oh my gOD PLEASE KEEP MY SECRET"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i might be making some of these prompts up
> 
> (i totally made this prompt up)

"Hey guys!" Octavia called out cheerfully as she arrived, putting her tray at the seat next to Jasper. "Sorry we're late. Bell had to submit some last minute requirement."

"Ew, requirements!" Jasper mocked openly, causing Monty to stifle a laugh. "I don't know why you're in grad school. I'm just excited to graduate."

"You know I'm considering taking up a master's degree, right?" Monty reminded him. "Be nice."

"You'll have senioritis soon enough," Miller warned, fork in hand. "You're gonna start missing all the crappy professors and getting sentimental every time you see the school colors. It's terrible."

"Whatever, Nathan," Octavia shook her head. "I'm just excited not to attend classes anymore."

"You won't be this excited when you're unemployed," Miller smiled.

"Well you look like shit," Bellamy offered Clarke as he set his tray down beside hers, joining their friends at the table.

"Shut up," she knocked her knee against his under the table as Bellamy exchanged hellos with everyone.

"It's winter break. Cheer up, Princess," he shrugged, digging into his beef stew. Across from them, Miller accepted Harper's vegetables, which she refused to eat. 

"Stop," she whispered weakly, poking at her plate of potato salad. "I feel like I've been run over by a garbage truck."

"What," he nudged her, tearing a piece of bread in his hands and dipping it in the stew. "Period cramps or something?" he teased.

"I fucking wish," she rolled her eyes. Clarke quickly realized her mistake and froze, letting her fork clatter on the plate. Bellamy turned to her, a questioning look in his eyes.

"What was that?" he prodded. She shook her head.

"Nothing," Clarke swallowed, going back to her untouched potato salad. She didn't really have the energy to be dealing with Bellamy at the moment.

"Didn't sound like nothing," he continued quietly.

"Quit it," she sighed, setting her fork down. It wasn't looking as if she was going to eat her salad anyway.

Bellamy looked around the table. Satisfied the others were off in their own little bubbles, he faced Clarke.

"Clarke, are you—"

"I don't know, okay?" she confessed in a whisper. "I'm a week late and I feel really sick. I've been vomiting for three days in a row. Maybe I'm just extremely stressed or something."

He looked incredulously at her, as if she had just told him she was going to adopt a pink platypus or something. Clarke paled. She bit her lip, fingers curling around the hem of her jacket. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking that maybe she could undo what she just let slip.

"I was just gonna ask if you were okay," Bellamy spoke again, hesitant. She opened her eyes and looked at him fearfully.

"Bellamy, I think I might be... _pregnant_ ," she spit out the last word in distaste, voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, God."

"Wow, um," he cleared his throat, looking for the right thing to say. He felt like the wind was knocked out of his lungs at the weight of her words. "Jesus. Uh—"

She sucked in a shuddering breath and met his uncertain gaze.

"Well, d'you sleep with anyone recently?" he continued, causing her to forcefully knock her knee against his again. In truth, her honesty had shocked him, but he didn't really know how to respond except with the usual crudeness that was expected of him. "I mean—"

"Of course I did," she said under her breath, internally shuddering at the memory. One would think that someone who was as good as everything else as Cage Wallage was would be good on bed, too. "Why else would I be considering  _it_ as a possibility?"

At that, his face dropped and he shrugged, deciding to drop the topic before he could aggravate her further. Bellamy focused on finishing his stew and participating in the conversations happening around him, like how Harper recently got promoted at the bioengineering company she'd just started working in, or how Monty got offered to attend an experimental chemistry course that the university's offering for the first time.

All the while, Clarke took unsteady sips from her glass of water until it was empty. Bellamy left the table once to buy more bread, but brought back another glass of water for her just the same. She was grateful he stopped asking her about it, because her head had started to hurt.

"Please don't tell anyone," she whispered to him later on, as they all stood to leave. Clarke looked Bellamy in the eye; he could see tears pooling at her eyelashes. He resisted the urge to pull her in, to calm her down, to tell her it was going to be fine and that he'd make sure she would be okay.

Instead, he nodded with a small smile he hoped came off as reassuring.

"Swear," her gaze bore into him. Bellamy matched her intensity until her eyes softened. "On your mother's grave."

"Hey!" his jaw dropped a little as he followed his sister out the door. "That's not funny!"

"You know what I mean," she offered him a half-smile, closing the door behind her.

"Mum's the word," he winked, earning a well-placed punch on the arm.

"You are  _not_ making mom jokes!" she hissed at him.

"You started it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno how i feel about this one?? many sads
> 
> also, age-wise (for this work), o, jasper, and monty are in the same year; miller and harper are a year above them; clarke's a year above that; and bellamy's just...old, i guess


	7. "every time i get in a fight you patch me up but now i’m the one patching you up after your tripped on thin air” + "pls chill out it's only p.e. it's not the olympics”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was begging to be written
> 
> also i changed a part of the prompt cos i just don't think clarke would trip over thin air okay
> 
> ((this is super short though))

"Stop moving," he bared his teeth in frustration. Clarke was alternating between clenching her fist and extending her fingers, making the muscles in her right forearm go between tightening up and releasing. He grumbled incoherently, flicking her wrist. "Stop."

"Just hurry up," she muttered, holding back a hiss at the cold Betadine that Bellamy had begun applying to the angry scratches. They were sitting on the bleachers, Clarke's arm on his lap. She winced as he clumsily worked around thin layers of her epidermis that had come off. "It's gonna bruise, isn't it?"

"Should've thought of that before you decided to overexert yourself, huh," he aimed a pointed look at her. Bellamy set down the antiseptic and the used cotton balls beside him, and dug through Clarke's small emergency pack for the antibiotic ointment. "Ease off the competitiveness a little bit."

"I came in first, though!" she beamed, back straightening. When he rolled his eyes, Clarke frowned.

"You're probably not gonna remember coming in first in P.E. ten years from now," he continued gruffly. "What's the point?" He took the small tube of ointment to her arm.

"Well I am now," she bit her lip at the sight of her injury. Clarke had finished strong in 200 meters, but had tried to stop way too quickly. She had tumbled forward and skid on the track oval, right forearm to the rough ground. Bellamy had witnessed everything and raced down the bleachers, meeting her at the bottom.

"This isn't gonna be pretty when it heals," he mused, making sure that every inch of discoloured skin was covered generously in ointment. "You should know."

"I'll try to give you a run for your money, then," she chuckled, because she _did_ know. She knew almost every scar that littered his skin, each with a story that resulted in injury. Clarke continued in a teasing tone, "For all the times I fixed you up, who would've known you knew how to do it yourself?"

"Stop complaining, Clarke," Bellamy said defensively, ripping off a too-long length of 3M medical tape with his teeth. She watched him as he attached it to a piece of gauze. "You know you're better at this than I am."

"Yeah, continuing to use three-day-old band-aids isn't really advisable, Bellamy," she recalled the first time he came to her for medical help. He had gotten into a bar brawl and earned a cut at his temple that had gotten infected by the time he'd shown her. He'd been involved in countless scuffles and scrimmages since, and she'd never failed to patch him up. (Except that one time with Finn.)

"Guess I can count myself as a lucky guy," he grinned at her, bright and with a hint of childish adoration in his eye. He patted her arm twice, and she drew it close to inspect his work. Bellamy sat back and stretched his legs, raising his arms above his head. "Well?"

"Not bad, actually," Clarke failed to suppress the slightly impressed tone to her voice. "Though you put too much of everything. Too much antiseptic. Too much ointment. Too much—"

" _You're welcome,_ " he made a show of sighing loudly. "And next time, take it easy, okay? It's only P.E. It isn't the Olympics."

"Say that again to my A when grades come out."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i totally think bellamy would overcompensate with everything to make sure clarke is okay i firmly believe he would use too much of everything


	8. "oh my god i wanted to sent a nude to this person i met online but i accidentally sent it to you on snapchat and it was set on 10 seconds as well fUCK WAIT YOU SCRENSHOTTED IT SHIT”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha ha ha ha ha

The phone buzzed on his nightstand, lighting up a corner of his room. Bellamy smirked to himself as he reached for it, sitting up in bed. He squinted at the harsh light to read the notification.

"Holy shit," the words came out strangled as he dropped his phone on his lap. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, _fuck_ ," he groaned, continuing the string of obscenities. He snuck another look at the screen before it went dark, half-believing that maybe he'd just read it wrong.

The white text on his lock screen spelt out  _Clarke took a screenshot!_ , plunging his nerves in ice. He _had_  read wrong, apparently, when he'd hastily sent a nothing short of compromising snap of himself to, as it turned out, _not_  Clara. Not ten minutes before, Clara had sent him several snaps of herself in various states of undress, as she prepared to get into the shower, and he'd wanted to give her a surprise when she finished.

Bellamy lay in bed, mortified. He cursed once, twice, three times, at his last-minute decision to crank the time up to ten seconds, and cursed some more at his carelessness. He briefly wondered whether or not he should send a follow-up snap to Clarke, apologizing for the unwelcome nude photo, but Bellamy quickly realized that she might think it was another one. He shuddered at the thought Clarke opening the snap.

"Ah, shit," he sighed, holding his thumb over the yellow icon until it started wiggling. He deleted the app, hoping that it would take at least some of his shame with it in good riddance. It didn't.

After a few more moments of drowning in guilt and embarrassment, he decided that yes, he was a grown man, and he could send naked photos to whomever he wanted. He swallowed slowly and grabbed his phone again, swiping the notification away with a grimace. He brought up the Messages app and began typing.

 **Sorry you had to see that, Princess,** he composed, adding the nickname to cushion the blow. His frown deepened, pulling at the taut muscles of his jaw.  **Whoops, my mistake.**

It took agonizingly long but her reply came soon enough, causing Bellamy to steel his nerves. Knowing her, she'd probably sent him a scathing three-page MLA-formatted backed-up essay about not taking nude photos because they'll be on the Internet forever, or whatnot, and that she took the screenshot as a lesson. He shook his head and decided that he'd just skim through it if need be.

He wasn't wrong. Clarke's message took up over four-fifths of his screen, complete with proper grammar and punctuation. Bellamy rolled his eyes when he spotted the words  _privacy policy_ , and promptly decided to forgo the rest of her message. It wasn't until the 'typing' bubble popped up at the bottom of the screen that he hesitated on pressing the lock button. He begrudgingly decided to wait for her follow-up message—which, knowing her, would probably be a prompt for him to reflect on his mistake.

 **I hope you've deleted the app by now and I'm totally judging you if you haven't,**  it read, and he scoffed. If she was so high and mighty, why did she have the app as well? **But if not, I dare you to make my day and send a video next time.**

Bellamy managed a small chuckle despite himself and the awkward situation he'd put himself in. He was sort of glad that Clarke still had a sense of humour about her, and for that he was more grateful than he'd be willing to admit. He hummed in barely contained relief as he keyed in his reply.

**Glad to know you liked it so much.**


	9. "i’m an artist and i just spilled all my paint on your white shirt/pants/shoes”

"Clarke!" his hoarse voice echoed throughout the apartment as Clarke yelped and darted away from him in record speed. "Get back here!"

"I'm sorry!" she hollered through the doorway to the haven that was Octavia's room. She contained a childish giggle before closing the door. "I really am I promise!"

"I'm gonna kill you!" Bellamy struggled to quickly untie his shoelaces, stepping out of his paint-covered shoes. He made his way to Octavia's door, stalking up to it in threatening silence. Some of the paint had soaked through his shoes and reached his socks, and he left faint tracks behind him.

He pushed the door open, impressed that Clarke knew to hide in there. Octavia would kill him if he went into her room, and he respected O too much to want to warrant that. Bellamy spotted her blonde hair glinting on the other side of O's bed; Clarke was crouched behind it, eyes alert with a hint of mischievousness.

"Get out here," Bellamy commanded, clearly in no mood to play hide-and-seek.

"Sorry!" she squeaked again, rising a little to assess his expression. Bellamy looked about ready to take on a bull, and win. Clarke gulped and got the feeling that she should probably stop messing about.

"When I agreed for you to paint on the living room wall," he let out exasperatedly through gritted teeth. "I meant the living room wall. Not anything else!"

Clarke had begged them for nearly two months to let her do it, stating that she needed to practice her murals. When Octavia saw her sketches, she had been delighted and joined her in pestering Bellamy until he had relented. She had moved from painting one end of the living room wall to working on the middle when Bellamy's proximity took her by surprise. Clarke had whipped around too quickly and almost fell off the ladder. She spilled everything onto the ground, instantly covering him in paint.

"Bellamy," Clarke began sweetly in an effort to tide him over. She emerged from her hiding place and hopped onto Octavia's sheets, suppressing another giggle when she saw his stained socks. "Who wears white shoes?"

" _I_ do," he aimed a hostile glare at the innocent look painted on her features. "Except they aren't white anymore, are they?"

"They have so much more character than before," she tried, ducking her head when he intensified his scowl.

"So will your paintbrushes when I break them in half," he snarled. "Wouldn't want that, would we?"

Clarke bit her lip, accepting her defeat. "Okay, I'm sorry, I'll buy you a new pair."

"Like hell you will. Those are frickin' expensive," he crossed his arms over his chest, jutting his chin out in a defiant challenge. "Last time I checked, you don't have a job."

"Well what do you want me to do?" she threw her hands up, getting upset that he wouldn't accept her offer to make it up to him. "I'm a broke art student."

Clarke watched Bellamy as his face lost its rigidity, a contented smile slowly making its way to the curve of his lips. Her mind instantly jumped to the most awful things he could possibly ask her to do, like help him study for his law class or something of the like. Clarke felt a chill run down her spine.

"Paint my room," he said simply, dropping his arms to his sides. It was as if his anger had dissipated at the idea of it.

Clarke's lips parted in a gasp, and her eyes lit up just a moment after. She charged off Octavia's bed and rushed up to him excitedly, skidding to a halt inches away from his chest. Clarke looked up at him in earnest.

"You'd let me do that?" she whispered, not quite believing that it wasn't merely ploy to get her within arms reach so he could properly pummel her to death.

"Yeah, you've already ruined the living room, anyway," he shrugged, turning to walk away. "Might as well let you ruin the rest of the place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry these are so short omg
> 
> also i'm worried that bellamy asking clarke to paint his room is a bit ooc?  
> (then again this is au)


	10. "look you fucktruck you took the last bag of cheesepuffs and i’m having a party. i'd be willing to invite you if you hand them over.”

"Chocolate soy milk, cheese puffs, and two Kinder eggs," O had reminded him just before he got out of the car. They'd decided to stop by a 7-Eleven near the university before he drove Octavia home. "And a Slurpee, but only if they have the berry flavor."

Unfortunately for Octavia, they only flavors they had were orange and grape. Bellamy walked up and down the aisles, soy milk in one hand, searching for—there it was, and the last one, too. Bellamy frowned. It was one of the big bags, and Octavia could barely finish one of the smaller ones. He grabbed it anyway and made his way to the counter, knowing that he'd find the Kinder eggs there. Octavia was waiting in the car and she was going to get impatient if he took too long.

"Excuse me," sometome tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around to see a short Latina in a high ponytail. She gave him a winning smile that almost floored him. "Hi!"

"Hello?" Bellamy hadn't intended for it to come out as a question, but he wasn't really sure what he'd done to garner her attention.

"I couldn't help but notice that you got the last bag of cheese puffs," she started, batting her eyelashes ever-so-slightly. "I kinda really want them, so..."

He chuckled, amused at what she was trying at. Bellamy hummed as he looked at the bag in his hand.

"My sister really wants them, too," he shrugged, knowing that if O found out he gave her cheese puffs to a charming girl he probably wouldn't meet again, she would most likely stuff the Kinder eggs down his throat, toys included.

"But I haven't had cheese puffs for _forever_ ," she continued, taking her bottom lip under her teeth. She eyed the bag. "Pretty please?"

"Sorry," he smiled sheepishly and decided against adding a cheesy pick-up line. "We're not really doing anything after this, though, so you're welcome to share it with us."

"Okay, look," she grumbled, dropping her act and crossing her arms. "I'm having a little get-together and I'm on a last-minute snack run and I  _really_ need those because my friend Jasper refuses to eat non-cheese-flavored junk food and he's probably gonna spontaneously combust when I tell him I got sour cream and onion Pringles instead."

Bellamy gave a short nod after a beat, still not fully convinced that he should agree to her request. She raised a brow disbelievingly and scoffed, continuing with much more urgency than before.

"Just hand them over, man," she prompted him. "I'll buy you one of any other snack in this place."

"Nice offer," he smirked. "Better luck next time."

That evidently launched her into a semi-rage, because she started to curse in Spanish under her breath.

"Well if you're really not doing anything after this," she sighed, "I guess you and your sister are officially invited to my get-together."

Bellamy nodded in mock thought, hiding his delight at her revelation that she was also a student at his university. He glanced at his watch.

"I need to drive my sister home now, but I'll tell you what," he decided. "I bet she won't even finish a third of this bag. Any chance I can come late to your little party?"

"Yes!" she played with her ponytail, not even trying to hide her giddy grin. "I live in on campus; it's pretty near here."

"Your friend really wants these, huh," his eyes crinkled around the edges.

"You should meet him," she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "I swear, his full name might as well be Jasper 'Cheese Powder' Jordan."

"What's yours, then?" he asked casually when she caught his gaze.

"Come up to the rooftop later and find out," she winked, heading towards the exit. "East wing. We start at nine. Bring the cheese puffs!"

Bellamy silently thanked whoever had invented cheese powder and placed the items on the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it lol i have decided that this cannot just be bellarke cos the other characters are also stellar  
> have some first meeting!braven


End file.
